


i'm gonna keep sighin' (baby, for you)

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [11]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Biting, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rimming, Scenting, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're on tour, now, and Harry decides to let Louis help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series. Start [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/946132). 
> 
> Thanks to [Melanie](http://cheekysstyles.tumblr.com) for the beta!
> 
> This part is longer than usual and (for my own sense of discipline and accomplishment) I want to keep up with posting every two weeks, so I'm posting it in chapters. The second chapter (which is finished, but unedited) will probably go up around October 31st. It's not too long a wait, if you'd prefer to read this all at once. (I'll be adding more tags, then.) 
> 
> Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PycKSdKG_74).

=

It’s the middle of the afternoon and Harry’s currently pressed close between Niall and Zayn.  He’s pretending to watch them play FIFA, but with the heat and their scents and the stale air, Harry can barely breathe. The windows are cracked as wide as they’ll open, which is only an inch or two, and the trickle of a breeze is doing little to relieve the pressure in Harry’s lungs.

Though Harry’d been acutely aware of the Alpha-thick scent of the X Factor House, his three months there has done nothing to prepare him for life on the tour bus. The space is cramped, far too small for five teenage boys, and overflowing with dirty laundry. Most of the time, Harry feels completely surrounded, weighed down on all sides.

It shouldn’t be this bad. Harry’d talked to the doctor about it before they’d set out on tour. They’re never going very far at once and they’re taking lots of breaks.

Harry hates to complain about it when the other boys are proper chuffed to be on a _real tour bus_ on a _real tour_. It _is_ pretty cool, he has to admit, and their excitement is often _literally_ contagious, but it’d be cooler if he didn’t constantly want to stick his head out a window or, better yet, jump into the ocean and let the salty waves rinse his skin free.  

Louis enters the living space with his DVD case in hand. He frowns at the lack of space between Harry and Niall and Zayn. He knows that it bothers Louis when the other boys are close enough to Harry for their scents to intertwine. It always has, which Harry thinks is a little dumb because Harry _reeks_ of Louis _all the time_. Everyone can smell it, even if they’re too polite to say.

“Budge over, lads,” Louis says. “Time for a film.”

Liam’s close behind him, freshly showered and smiling.

“What’re we watching?” He asks, not looking up from his IPad. He’s been flirting with some omega girl (a ‘fan’) through twitter DMs and he seems equal parts thrilled and scandalized by his own audacity.

Niall force ends the game and Zayn leans over Harry to send him an amused look. “Tired of losing?”  

Niall flicks him off, but without heat.  Harry can feel that they’re both happy, relaxed, even. Louis’ tense, though, eyes flickering around the small space.

Harry smiles, instinctively wanting to calm him. “What’ve you brought us?”

Louis looks down at the stack, “The Notebook, Titanic, Sleepless in Seattle, Notting Hill-“

“Knotting Hill, if you know what I mean,” Zayn mutters, eliciting a chuckle from Niall.

Liam laughs, too, a second too late. “Let’s watch that one.”

Harry hates Notting Hill, mostly because he finds Hugh Grant’s performance as a beta unconvincing. The guy’s an alpha through and through and so he sort of overacts his character’s pathetic-ness _._ Betas aren’t _that_ boring, generally.  And, if they were, lovely alphas like Julia Roberts would definitely not date them.

“I want to watch the Notebook,” Harry announces. He (not so) secretly loves bondmate films. Just because he doesn’t want that for himself, doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy watching other people fall in love and, like, _connect_. Also, most revolve at least partly around an _omega_ and, even if they don’t always accurately capture _his_ experience, it’s kind of nice.

“Harry gets what Harry wants.” Louis pulls out the DVD.

Liam sinks to the ground and whines, “It’s not fair. Harry _always_ gets what he wants because he’s an omega and you three can’t keep your dicks under control- you’d all knot him, if he’d let you.”

“Hey now,” Zayn says, throwing an arm Harry’s shoulder. “Harry gets his way because he has to put up with us all stinking up his space.”

Both explanations are kind of fucked up. Harry _does_ get his way more often than he should, _he knows_. He’s about to say so, too, but then Zayn nuzzles Harry’s neck. It sends a shiver down Harry’s spine and Harry can’t help the way his eyes search out Louis’. He’s frowning unhappily.

“Don’t pretend you’re immune,” Niall says, kicking Liam’s shoulder.

Liam shrugs. “I certainly have more self-control than you assholes.”

“He does,” Harry agrees, because it’s true.

Louis backs away from the DVD player and reaches out, “Alright, Harry, come here.” His hands turn grabby and Harry grabs back, batting at Louis’ waggling fingers.

The credits start and Harry settles easily into Louis’ lap on the ground. It’s just _better_ being wrapped in Louis.

The bus is only tolerable when Louis’ in it and _close_. Harry’s become practiced at latching onto his scent and allowing it to fill him up. It’s best if they’re touching. When Harry’s focused on Louis, when all Harry can smell and feel and touch and think about is Louis, the stifling closeness of the other boys fades

Harry’s acutely aware of Louis’s breath against his neck and his cock against his arse. They don’t _do_ anything, but by the end of the film Harry’s skin is starting to itch.

He tries to focus on the film. It’s so sad, a lifetime bond all but destroyed by illness. Several of the omega-oriented books he’s read talk about ways to stabilize and maintain bonds into old age. Obedience, staying fit, therapy, keeping your home clean of other scents, etc-  but they don’t have an answer to illness or death.

Around the halfway point he closes his eyes, hoping to nod off. When he cries during movies, the other boys (mostly Louis) become insufferable. The last time it’d happened, back in the X Factor House, Louis’d wiped Harry’s tears with his shirtsleeve and carried him to bed.

Louis brings a hand up and begins to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s soothing, Louis’ petting, and it calms Harry. He lets Louis’ scent and the story mingle together and wash over him.

It’s sweet, Allie’s first heat with Noah and, oddly jarring, that she’s able to let him go- sort of- and move on to spend a heat or two with Lon. It’s not totally comfortable for any of them- Allie nor Noah nor Lon- and, true to everything Harry’s read about mating, Allie _does_ end up with her first love. They’d begun to  form a bond, after all.

But still, Harry thinks, the bond didn’t settle right away- and she’d definitely been able to be _involved_ with Lon without any sort of entanglement.

Harry remembers what Cal had told him about finding an alpha lover and how he’d insisted that they didn’t necessarily have to bond. He’d warned that most relationships between alphas and omegas _did_ end in a bond- sometimes unintentionally- but with ample self-control, the relationship could stay simple, fluid, and non-binding.

At the time, Harry hadn’t been able to imagine wanting anyone to so much as look at him during his heat. His slick arse and open desperation are embarrassing. It’s a part of himself that he imagines will always be difficult to entrust to anyone, partially because he doesn’t want the perception of him as _that_ to spill over into other parts of his life.

He’s _so_ grateful that the public doesn’t know he’s an omega.

But now, after spending several heats alone, after having had Louis with him through the phone during his last- Harry thinks he might be ready to admit he needs help. Or rather, he doesn’t _need_ help, but he could use it. He might even like it.

~

He calls Cal later on that day.

“What can I do for you, Harry? Any problems with the suppressants? You need something stronger?”

Harry pulls the blanket on his bunk over himself. It’s hot, but he can hear the other boys in the next room and it gives him the illusion of privacy.

His voice is small, as small as he can make it, when he says, “I’m thinking about finding someone to help me through my heats.”

He can hear Call shuffle papers or something as he replies, “Did something happen between you and Louis?”

Harry rolls over. He thinks about Louis’ texts and how they’d made his last heat so much better and _so much worse_. “Kind of.”

Cal sighs and Harry feels like he’s disappointed him somehow. Harry’s disappointed himself- he should be strong enough to do this on his own- so it shouldn’t surprise him that Cal feels the same. “Do you need me to help you find someone?”

“What?” Harry asks. “Why would I need to find someone?”

Cal laughs. “You’ll need _someone,_ if _someone_ is going to help you through your heat.”

Harry frowns. He’d thought Cal had caught on right away. “No, I was thinking of asking Louis.”

Cal’s quiet for a moment. “You mean you and Louis haven’t already been… ?”

Harry pulls the blanket tighter around himself. “No, we’ve never.”

He can’t believe Cal would suggest that. Sure, he and Louis live together and are best friends but, like, going through a _heat_ with someone is a Big Deal, bond or no bond.

“I assumed that was part of the reason you moved in together. You two seem _very_ close.”

“We only fooled around a bit.” Harry wraps the blanket even tighter wishing there was a way he could bury himself in it completely. “I want to know how we can, like, be together without, like, _getting_ together.”

“Very precise, Harry,” Cal says.

Harry groans, eliciting a chuckle from Cal. When he’s finished laughing, he says, “No, I know what you mean. I’ll make sure information finds its way to you and Louis.”

~

The best part of touring is the performances.

Harry _loves_ what he can do from the stage. During the X Factor, he’d been so nervous about making it, so nervous that one little slip up on his part could cost them the show, that he hadn’t been able to settle into it, not the way he has on tour.

Now, he can relax- just a little- and _sing._

He likes that they’re closer to the audience. There’s no judges table between him and a whole crowd of (often screaming) fans that think he’s amazing. He loves to play with people, to catch someone’s eye and make them feel like he’s singing a verse just for them.

And he feels more in control of his hormones than ever.  It’s surprising, sometimes, how a whole section of people become entranced by something simple like the line of his outstretched arm. But he’s figuring out, slowly but surely, how to work with that kind of attention and energy.

The power is intoxicating. He thinks he could whisper into his mic a request for anything- a hug, a ham sandwich, a new car- and the people watching and screaming and crying would move heaven and earth to fetch it for him.

~

They can’t sleep after the concert, none of them, and Harry’s still too young to go out to the clubs to celebrate, so Louis and Zayn retrieve several bottles of liquor and bring them back to the bus.

Harry puts up a small stink- Louis _knows_ Harry would have preferred wine, even though it gives him terrible hangovers- but Harry’s complaints are mostly lost in the excitement of expensive scotch. He’s quite certain that none of the boys can _tell_ that it’s expensive from the taste, but Louis does a fair job of pretending to be impressed.

Harry drinks way too much, way too fast. It’s late and he’s already flying high from the show and the itch of his next heat is beginning to build underneath his skin even though it should still be days away.

Louis keeps sending Harry worried little looks. He’s far more drunk than Harry, having needed to prove that the harsh coughs the other boys made after each sip of scotch demonstrated their inherent wussiness (in contrast, of course, to his steely, manly disposition).

So it’s not surprising that halfway through their little after party, he finds himself in Louis’ lap with Louis biting softly into his neck.

It’s playful, _teasing,_ and not quite sexual. The other boys are there, arguing about superheroes, as per usual, and Harry and Louis are still participating in the conversation, Louis in between licks and nips. They don’t have hands down each other pants and Louis’ nowhere near close to knotting. Harry wiggles his arse around on his lap several times, just to check.

Perhaps it _is_ strange behavior, but Zayn and Niall watch indulgently (they’re maybe a little jealous, Harry thinks) and Liam is too wrapped up in his girl-texting to notice. When Harry suggests that they watch Titanic, the former two head to bed, leaving Harry and Louis (and Liam) to it.

The movie isn’t that interesting. Harry knows most of the lines by heart. And so, partway through, they begin to talk, him and Louis, about the first time they’d seen it, about the friends they’d seen it with, about growing up.

Louis starts to fall asleep beneath him- right in the middle of a story Harry’s telling about a decidedly evil primary school teacher who’d had it out for him- and Harry decides that his bladder has been full to aching too long.

He stands and the room tilts. He’s still _really_ drunk, even though he hasn’t had a sip of alcohol for over an hour now. He makes his way, groping at the walls for balance as he walks, to the tiny bus bathroom and bangs it open.

Liam is sitting on the toilet, eyes now wide-wide open, cock in hand, jerking himself off. Harry stares long enough to note that he’s well hung, but currently knot-less.

The two of them move at the same time, Liam standing and tucking himself in and Harry backing up and out and slamming the door in front of him.

It’s quiet for a moment- the toilet doesn’t flush and the sink doesn’t turn on and Harry wonders if maybe Liam’s gone back to wanking.

He shouts (possibly louder than entirely necessary), “I have to piss.”

Liam’s out of the bathroom almost immediately and brushing past Harry into his bunk. Something seems off to Harry about the whole encounter, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity at the moment to sort through it.

Harry thinks the issue might be that Liam hadn’t washed his hands, which _is_ very gross, but he has to wee so badly that it’s painful, so he can’t really worry too much about it.

When he’s washing his own hands- like a civilized person- he smells Louis who must now be waiting in the hallway for his turn.

As they pass, Louis takes Harry’s arm in hand and presses a kiss to his wrist. Harry falls asleep immediately, the liquor pulling him down and down and down, but when he wakes up in the middle of the night (to pee, _again_ ) he has to crawl over Louis who’s bundled into the tiny bunk with him.

~

Harry rises early the next morning- the sun is just beginning to come up and he hasn’t slept more than  two or three hours. All the other boys are still in bed. He digs through the tiny fridge for edible leftovers. He’s not hungry, but the pull has started hot beneath his skin and he’ll be out of commission by evening; he’s sure of it.

The heat has come on more quickly than before, only two and a half weeks after his last heat, probably because of his close proximity to four alphas. As he downs a bowl of cold noodles, he begins to make a list of what he needs to do today: tell the staff, re-check in with Louis, press Cal for information, get a hotel room, call his mum.

He’s texting the aid who’s been working with them most closely when he hears a soft, “Morning.”

Liam’s standing in the doorway in his sleep shorts. He stretches and yawns.An half image of him in the toilet the night before flashes through Harry’s mind. He reaches to remember the whole of it, but comes up blank.

Must not have been too important because Liam is smiling easily as he asks, “Wanna go for a walk?”

Harry laughs. “The first thing you want to do now that you’ve woken up is go for a walk? Aren’t you feeling last night?”

Liam shrugs and through a second yawn, says, “Haven’t really been sleeping well.”

Harry nods and sends his text. “Yeah, alright.” A walk sounds nice; it might serve to settle him a bit.

It is nice. Liam’s quiet and, thankfully, he doesn’t pull out his phone. Harry wants to ask him what he thinks now, months later, about Harry’s gender and about his relationship with Louis. Harry wants to ask him if he thinks Louis can do it, can _help_ Harry without bonding with him or resenting him.

He just can’t work out the best way to start. Maybe a compliment about Liam’s own control and reserve would be good, butter him up a bit.

Liam solves Harry’s problem about five minutes out. “So, you and Louis?”

Harry frowns. “Kind of.”

Liam makes a small sound and then he asks, “It probably feels pretty good, being connected to someone like that, like at that level, or whatever.”

“Jesus, Liam. It’s not like he’s bought me a house and, like, knocked me up. We’re not _bonded,_ or anything. He hasn’t even knotted me. We’re just mates, the same as any of us in the band.” It’s such lie, that he and Louis aren’t _different_ , but he’s not ready to admit the truth aloud or deal with its consequences. They shouldn’t be different, is the thing. It’s _dangerous._

“Don’t think Louis feels the same.”

Harry realizes he’s shivering, covered in goosebumps, even though he doesn’t _feel_ the least bit cold. He’d gone out without a jacket and it’s still early spring. Liam’s wearing a winter parka and Harry’s surprised he hadn’t said anything to Harry.

Although, the guys had been giving Liam a lot of shit lately for how much of a _parent_ he could be. Louis has begun addressing Liam as ‘daddy’ as often as possible and Liam might not have wanted to endure a ribbing from Harry.

But, the more Harry thinks about it, the hotter he feels. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to find a text from the aid saying that someone is on their way to fetch him from the bus. The sooner he’s contained the better in her opinion.

He keeps his phone out to text Louis. They still haven’t talked about it, but Harry wants him there this time. When the other boy doesn’t reply, Harry prays he’ll be able to pull himself out of bed and put his shit together quickly.

“We should probably turn around,” Harry tells Liam. “They’re already waiting for me with a car.”

Liam turns, but he says, “Who is? Why? We just started out.”

Harry usually likes that Liam treats him like he’s normal- like he’s not an omega. But right now Harry’s definitely giving off a wild, possibly even desperate, scent and Harry thinks it’s stupid for them to pretend otherwise.

“Come on, Liam, you know I’m in heat, or just on the verge of it. I mean, that’s why you wanted to get out, go on a walk, instead of staying in that little cramped kitchen, isn’t it? I’m an omega, not an idiot.”

The longer he speaks the more irritated he becomes. It’s stupid that the other boys feel like they have to protect him from them and sometimes from himself. God, _fuck_ , he _is_ different and he just wishes that were _okay_.

Liam is frowning and not looking at Harry. He’s quickened his pace, though. Harry’s ire is probably is stinging through him and not for the first time Harry _wishes_ Liam’s own control wasn’t so good. Harry wishes he could feel him like he can the other boys.

Not that it would help now, when they’re a hundred yards from the bus and he can already smell _Louis,_ can already feel Louis waking up and searching for Harry.

Louis comes bounding out of the trailer in only his boxers, hair wild, running toward Harry. When he reaches them, he glares at Liam and wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist.

“What were you thinking?!” Louis directs this at Liam who flinches.

“We wanted to go out for a walk,” Harry explains. “It’s a nice morning.”

Louis continues to frown at Liam. “You _know_ better. Harry could’ve been assaulted. It’s dangerous for him to be out in the midst of his heat.”

Harry’s about to protest. He does know the risks and he’d had Liam with him for safety. Also, what if he’d _wanted_ to find someone to sleep with… But Liam speaks before Harry finds his words. “Louis, you’re not Harry’s alpha. You can’t-“

Louis fingers tighten around Harry’s wrist and it _hurts_. “Neither are you.”

Harry tugs his hand free from Louis’ grip. He looks from Louis to Liam and then, as though he’s being pulled by some irresistible force, back to Louis. Even riled as he is, Harry can’t help but just, like, admire him. It’s stupid.  Louis’ being an overdramatic dick and moments like this are _exactly_ why Harry doesn’t want to bond with Louis or anyone. But Louis’ eyes are _so_ blue and he smells _so_ good.

Harry sighs unhappily and the other boys break eye contact to look at him. He says, “I need to talk to Louis. The car will be here soon. Liam, can you grab some clothes for us?”

He’s surprised by the surety behind his words and even more surprised when Liam turns to obey. Louis calls out though, “Wait, Liam. We’ll grab them in a second. I don’t want your scent all over our stuff.”

Harry laughs. “Seriously, Louis? Liam doesn’t even really smell like anything other than his godawful cologne.”

It’s true, though Harry’s never thought too hard about it before. He doesn’t have the time to think much about it now, either. Not with the wet throb of his arse. Not with the starved looks Louis keeps sending him.

The car pulls up and the aid rolls down the window. She’s a beta and he’s incredibly grateful for that. She calls, “Harry? Are you ready?”

“Just a second,” Harry says at the same time Louis shouts, “Yeah, we’re ready.”

Harry frowns at him, then shoots over his shoulder at Liam, “Can you, like- we only need a couple of shirts and a clean pair of boxers?”

Liam unfreezes and hurries inside the bus.

To Louis, Harry says, “I want you to come with me, to help, but I don’t want to bond. I still want to, like, be _free_ or whatever.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve done nothing but say you don’t want me as your bondmate since I found out you were an omega.”

Harry doesn’t think he _does_ get it, is the thing. But he’s not sure how to be any more clear.

Liam comes out with an armful of clothes. He hands them to Louis, but he’s looking at Harry. “You’re taking him with you, then?”

Harry nods.

Liam tilts his head. “Alright. Be careful.”

Harry thinks he should be saying ‘be careful’ to Louis as it’s Louis’ knot that will be up his arse and not the other way around. But he doesn’t, he turns to Louis, whose face is now buried in his own balled up jumper, and squeezes his shoulder.

Then, he leans and whispers something to Louis, eyes hard. Harry thinks he might be telling him not to let this fuck up the band.

Louis laughs, bright and loud, but a little forced and says, “No, I don’t figure I have anything to worry about with you.”

The aid honks the horn and Liam climbs back up the steps of the bus, calling over his shoulder, “Have fun.”

Harry crawls into the backseat and Louis follows, forgoing a seatbelt to sit as close to Harry as possible. The pile of clothes covers both their laps and Harry’s never smelled anything better than their scents mingling in the confined space.

He buries his face in Louis’ neck and nuzzles. “The clothes smell so good. You smell _so_ good.”

“The clothes _do_ smell good,” Louis agrees, speaking slowly. “Not like Liam, at all.”

Harry slips a hand into Louis’ hair, tugging at him in an attempt to press his face closer to Louis. “I told you. Liam never smells like anything but his cologne.”

“Yeah, you did say. Isn’t that strange, though?”

Harry doesn’t _care_ about Liam’s scent at the moment and he needs to get Louis on the same page so he licks a line from Louis ear to his collarbone. Louis groans and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders.

The aid says, “We’ll be at the hotel in less than ten minutes. Do not _fuck_ in my car.”

Harry looks at Louis, who nods. They disentangle, and it’s almost painful, resisting the way he’s still being pulled to Louis. Harry folds his hands and rests them on top of the pile of clothing.

After a moment, Louis says, “So, we’re going to do this. I’m going to go through this heat with you, without bonding, I mean.”

Harry nods. He thinks it’s possible. They’re going to try. “Shouldn’t be _too_ difficult. Cal was supposed to send me some information on it, but the heat came on too soon.”

Louis lips turn down. “Then what, like—“

“Well,” Harry cuts him off, then stops and looks down. He’s _such_ a terrible omega sometimes; he has no idea why Louis’ stuck around.

Louis reaches over and places a hand on top of his. “It’s okay. Go on.”

Harry nods. “It’s just, most bonded couples don’t _full out bond_ during their first heat together. That takes _time_ and _intention_ , usually.”

“Yeah,” Louis doesn’t sound satisfied. Actually, Harry realizes, the longer they’re in the car, the closer they come to the hotel, the more terrified Louis’ becoming. The air is flickering around them with his panicked fright.

Harry turns his hands over so that he’s holding Louis’ hand between the two of his. “Come on, it can’t be that difficult.” He links their fingers together. “Like, we know how to bond- that’s certainly been beaten into us. So we just don’t do that.”

Louis turns to nod against Harry’s shoulder, now. “Yeah, like, as long as we don’t mark each other.”

“Also,” Harry stops. He knows what he wants to say, but he’s afraid it might come out mean. He’s said it before and Louis’ never taken it well. He doesn’t want to hurt Louis’ feelings, especially not now.

“What?” Louis says, his trepidation skyrocketing. It’s almost too much for Harry to hold. He wishes there was _something_ he could do to sooth him.

“Like, you have to _want_ to bond. It can’t happen without at least part of you wanting it.”

Louis rubs his head against Harry’s shoulder. The atmosphere inside the car doesn’t intensify, as Hary had expected; it softens. He’s sad, Harry realizes, not angry.

He _does want_ it, Harry realizes. Louis wants to bond with _him._ Harry’s convenient, of course, and they spend _so_ much time together. They get on well and practically everyone who knows Harry’s gender thinks they’re already bonded.

It sort of makes sense that Louis would want Harry as his omega.

But Louis doesn’t understand _Harry_. He doesn’t know what _Harry_ wants. He doesn’t know that Harry’s got big plans, plans that don’t (yet) include living in a farmhouse in the country and filling it to the brim with babies.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it feels suddenly like Louis’ sadness has become his own. Then he adds, “You’re my best friend. I like you as a best friend, not a mate.”

Even as he says it, though, his hand is searching out Louis’ cock under the pile of clothes on his lap. The smell of his arousal in the tight, closed space of the car is overwhelming and Harry _needs_ to be closer to him.

Louis slides a hand underneath the clothes as well and covers Harry’s to press it tighter around himself. He’s nearly all knotted up.

“I have no idea how I’m going to _walk_ like this, babe.”

Harry nods, feeling equally impaired by his own lust-ridden state. His arse is soaked now and he’s quite sure is going to leave a stain on the nice, agreeable aid’s car seat. But he can’t think about that. All he can think about is _Louis_.  And most especially, getting Louis inside him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are close to five weeks late. What can we learn from this? I'm a lying liar who lies about dates and timing. **But** I love this 'verse and I will always return eventually. Thank you for your enthusiasm and your patience. 
> 
> Much love to [Melanie](http://santababysstyles.tumblr.com) for the beta! So fast, so thorough, so patient with my heavy dependence on feeling words and my overzealous insertion of commas.

Someone has prepared the hotel room for them; Harry can tell. It’s scent-free and with Louis beside him, it feels less sterile than his basement. In fact, the space fills quickly with their mingled scents and Harry drinks it in.

On the bed sits a box of toys. It’s bigger than his collection at home. He can’t imagine having the patience or the stamina to use more than one or two during a heat and he wonders at the purpose of providing such a large number and variety.

He supposes different omegas have different preferences. During heat, Harry only has one craving: a knot up his arse and he’d always assumed other omegas felt the same, that, when aching for it, a knot was knot was a knot.

Maybe then shape and size and texture matter to omegas out of heat. He’s read that _lots_ of omegas have sex frequently. This is a strange idea to him. Sure, he masturbates and he and Louis have jerked each other off and even gone so far as to put their mouths on one another, but, like, the desire to have something _inside him_ seems tied to mindless desperation and a painful empty ache, sensations he’d rather not willingly relive.

Louis walks over the bed and begins to pull toy after toy out of the box. Harry watches, eyes tracing the line of Louis’ arm and the curve of his spine.

The room is _so_ hot and Harry begins to strip off of his clothing, his t-shirt, trousers, pants, belt all piling up at his feet.

Louis flips a switch on something purple with three legs. It begins to buzz. He turns it over in his palm and presents it to Harry. “What do you reckon this is?” Louis rubs it slowly up his own arm, across his shoulder and neck, and over his face. Harry’s breath quickens. It shouldn’t be sexy. It _isn’t_ sexy.

Except that it makes Harry think about Louis rubbing Harry’s now _aching_ cock against his cheek. It’s leaking and would leave behind a streak of precome across Louis’ skin. And his scent, he’d be _covered_ in Harry’s scent.

As Harry approaches the bed, Louis puts the purple toy down and continues to dig through the box. He pulls out a colorful pamphlet that had been at the bottom. He’s flipping through it as Harry cuddles up close.

Louis absently slips an arm around Harry’s waist and nuzzles Harry’s neck, scenting him. He says, “Cal must’ve left this for you. It’s the information about preventing bonding.”

Harry fingers the hem of Louis’ shirt. Harry thinks he must be hot, too. Really, Louis has to be _melting_ because Harry’s burning up, even bare and exposed. Surely, he would appreciate being freed of some his clothes. Surely, he wants to be naked, pressed skin to skin against Harry.

Also, the longer he stays clothed, the longer Harry will have to wait to be knotted.

His arse pulses as he lets the thought sink in: he’s going to be _knotted._ They’re really going to do it.

“So,” Louis says, closing the pamphlet and setting it down in his lap. “I probably shouldn’t actually knot you, to be safe.”

Harry grabs for the paper in Louis’ hand. “You shouldn’t-“

Harry tries to read, but beside him Louis is pulling his shirt over his head and Harry is distracted by the curve of his belly and the smooth plane of his chest. Most of the alphas on film are hairier than Louis, but, Harry supposes, they’re also older.

He looks back down at the paper. The warning is clear enough. In bold letters at the bottom of the page it reads, “High risk couples should keep skin to skin contact to a minimum during heat. They should never attempt a knot.”

His eyes flit upward, wanting to know what has caused Louis to identify them as a high risk couple. There’s a section entitled: ‘bonding risk factors.’  As Harry looks down the list, he realizes that he and Louis fit almost every qualification: close friendship, commonly complete tasks with one another, live together, find one another suitable companions, one or both desire to mate (with anyone) sooner rather than later.

Harry’s stomach drops. Maybe this was a terrible idea.

He looks at Louis, who’s got his shirt halfway over his head. “You still want to do this?”

Louis laughs and presses his face into Harry’s neck.

“Of course,” he says, lips wet against Harry’s skin. It feels amazing, Louis’ mouth on his pulse, teeth just grazing the skin. Harry’s arse is now so wet it’s uncomfortable. Harry’s glad the pamphlet hasn’t deterred Louis because Harry wants him here.

When Louis pulls back, he says, “You ask as if I could stop myself now.”

Harry stiffens. It’s an offhand comment. Louis doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s sure. But, like, “You could stop yourself, couldn’t you?”

Louis runs a hand over Harry’s shoulders, kneading a bit. “Sorry,” he says, a little stiffly. And then he adds, “Yeah, I could stop. You just say the word.”

Harry relaxes, but then he adds, “You’ve done this before, right? You said you’d been with an omega through her heat before? And you didn’t bond?”

Louis lets go of Harry and squeezes his own thighs. “Well,” he pauses.

Harry whines. “I _knew_ you were lying.” Back in the X Factor house, before he’d really figured it out, that he was an omega himself, he might have felt vindicated by the knowledge. But now he only feels tired and a little scared.

Louis huffs out a breath. “I have been with an omega before. I’ve even knotted one, but like, not during her heat or anything.”

Something fierce rushes up in Harry and he practically _growls_ at the thought. Only seconds earlier he’d imagined that it would be better if Louis had been with someone else before, that his experience could help him. But, no, he realizes that’s not what he wants. He wants Louis all to himself.

He hates this omega, whoever she is, on principle. He needs Louis to know that he shouldn’t do that. He needs to Louis to know that, for now, as long as he’s helping Harry, he cannot be sleeping with anyone else, omega or otherwise.

He leans over to kiss Louis, wet and desperate, with teeth. He bites into the plump flesh of Louis’ lower lip and doesn’t let up until he tastes blood. The angry, possessive feelings roiling up inside him is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. They don’t quite fit him or the situation.

Louis pulls back and strokes a finger down Harry’s cheek. “It’s alright,” he says. “I’ve got you. I’ve been reading up.”

“You’ve what?” Harry asks, leaning forward for another kiss. Louis indulges him, letting their lips meet briefly. Then he moves away again.

“Ever since I found out you were an omega, I was hoping you’d, like, want _me_. I mean, it’s not a crazy thought given how we were before, you know.  And we’re best friends and everyone says we already smell like each other. Anyway, I was hoping you might want to bond. So I started reading everything I could get my hands on about mating and heats and what omegas need from their alphas.”

Harry’s read a lot of these things, too, and his stomach drops. Much of it sounds very painful and a little cruel. Exciting, too, but frightening.

“I’m not like other omegas,” Harry tells him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to kneel or be bitten. He imagines Louis ordering him about, to lie still, to open his mouth for Louis’ cock, to spread his cheeks for Louis’ fingers, and thinks that, _right now_ , he’d enjoy doing _anything_ Louis asked of him. It’s just.

He’s not sure he can trust Louis not to go _too_ far.

Louis kisses Harry’s face, first his forehead, then the corners of his eyes, and finally the line of his jaw. “You’re the loveliest omega. The very best, babe,” Louis tells him.

A little shiver runs over Harry, covering his sweat dampened skin with goosebumps. Louis’ words are sweet, love words, _mating words_ and he and Louis have just read the pamphlet explaining exactly why they can’t be like this with each other.

“Don’t,” Harry instructs and then nips at Louis’ neck, allowing his scent to wash over him.

Louis fingers slide lightly along the arch of Harry’s back and the not quite there-ness of them is almost _painful._

Louis pulls back and looks into Harry’s eyes. The hotel room is dark and Louis’ face is in shadow, so Harry moves forward to see that Louis is smiling softly. Harry’s chest clenches.

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s temple. “One of the things I’ve learned,” Louis murmurs, lips still pressed against his skin,  “Is that an omega in heat should be _appreciated_.”

Harry can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face because that sounds _right_. He wants to spend his heat basking in the glow of Louis’ adoration and covered in his cool kisses, instead of by himself writhing and empty and _lonely_.

Louis fingers Harry’s curls. They’re damp with sweat by now, Harry knows, but Louis is touching them with the care of someone holding something sacred.

“Okay,” Harry says. He’s not sure what he’s assenting to, but Louis’ waiting for him.

Louis’ eyes flick down Harry’s naked form and Harry realizes that at some point he’d slipped his own hand underneath his body to press against his aching hole. He pulls it free and looks away from Louis.

His fingers are sticky, glistening even in soft darkness of the room. The emptiness in his arse is painful now with Louis so close.  “Are you going to touch me?”

Louis shakes himself and then nods. “Lay down.”

Harry stretches out onto his side and then rolls onto his stomach, giving Louis easy access to his arse.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, breathless. “You’re, _fuck_. I want you to look at me.”

Harry turns his head so that he can watch Louis, who’s stripping down now, too, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his trousers and pants. His cock is perfect, fully erect and Harry can see his knot forming.

As they’re trying _not_ to bond, it’s probably a poor idea for it to be out and so close to Harry’s arse. But Harry finds that he’s lost his words. And that, maybe, he’d rather risk bonding than have Louis tuck it back away.

“Settle down,” Louis says. “Relax.”

Harry laughs, a little hysterically. He can’t imagine _relaxing_. But then Louis runs a hand from Harry’s shoulder to his hip and he feels himself let go. He isn’t relaxed, per se, his body still feels fully alert, ready for Louis’ fingers and Louis’ lips and Louis’ cock. But he feels like he can trust Louis, like he can stop worrying about bonding or not bonding, about how ridiculous he must look and sound, about whether or not he’s going to be _filled._  

Louis will take care of him, for now.

“Louis,” he moans, “I’m so hot.”

Louis lets out a little sound of distress. It closely matches Harry’s feverish discomfort.

When Louis settles against him, Harry can feel his hard cock against his hip. His arse clenches and he sobs, “Just, like, get _on_ with it.”

“Calm yourself, love,” Louis murmurs. He’s leaning down to kiss the back of Harry’s neck. His lips feel cool and their dampness provides moment after moment after moment of relief as he moves his mouth along the top of Harry’s shoulders.

Harry lets himself revel in the pressure of Louis’ chest against his back. _Fuck,_ but he loves feel of Louis’ weight and the exhilarating mix of safety and fear that it elicits within him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis whispers. He sounds as though he’s in awe of Harry, but that can’t be. He’s seen Harry’s naked form hundreds of times. He’s pressed kisses to Harry’s bare back and drank in his heat ripened scent.

Whatever Louis sees or smells or feels right now, Harry knows it can’t be new or surprising, let alone awe-inspiring.

Except that Harry himself feels something _different_ , too, and _good_ different. His heats have always had him feeling desperate, on the verge of breaking or, possibly, exploding. And he can still sense that _edge_ in front of him, calling out of him a sense of urgency.

But it’s not an anxious urgency. He smells Louis and he feels the brush of his lips and the gentle touch of his fingertips.

He doesn’t have to do this alone; Louis’ here.

Louis says, “Babe, are you okay?”

Harry nods against the pillow. He’s not sure Louis can see, but his throat doesn’t seem to be working.  

Louis must understand, though, because he’s moving down Harry’s spine, lips touching Harry’s skin again and again and again, never for more than a second, leaving behind a series of damp, cooling swatches.

When Louis reaches Harry’s lower back he pauses. “How hard up are you for it, babe?”

At his words, Harry feels a flash of irritation. Louis can _feel_ Harry’s need, can smell its pungency, can see it leaking out from between his crack.

But then Louis adds, “Can you wait a few more minutes? I’m not finished.”

His words are soft and, though he’s not sure what Louis needs to finish, Harry wants to please him. He nods again and Louis moans out a soft, “Good.”

Then his lips are on Harry again, now at his hips and then the crease below his arse, the backs of his right thigh, then his left. His breath tickles the inside of Harry’s knee, but he holds himself still as Louis moves lower and lower till he’s touching Harry’s ankles and the arches of his feet.

All the while, he’s murmuring soft words, love words. He tells Harry that he’s beautiful and how he’s desperate to hold him. He promises Harry that he’ll always be there to take care of him, if Harry should need him.

Harry’s alert enough to notice, though, that he _never_ asks to bond and he never actually uses the word ‘love.’ He thinks it’s implied, after their conversation earlier, but even in his heightened state of arousal, even naked beside each other spread out in bed ready to see him through a heat, Louis does not push.

For this Harry is both grateful and wistful.

As Louis makes his way back up, now pressing harder, tonguing and biting at Harry’s skin, Harry thinks, for perhaps the first time, that being bonded to Louis might not be so bad, after all. He’s so tender with Harry. He seems to know better what Harry wants than Harry does himself.

Harry realizes Louis has begun to move back up Harry’s body, continuing cover him in kisses and softly spoken endearments. Louis had skipped over Harry’s arse on his first pass downward, kissing its top and its bottom, laying his hands across its cheeks, but never nearing Harry’s swollen opening with his fingers or his mouth.

But now he stops and squeezes Harry’s cheeks, softly, before pulling them apart. Harry feels suddenly exposed, goosebumps again breaking out across his heated skin as the cool air of the hotel room hits his entrance.

He whines when Louis’ mouth comes down, letting fall the same soft kisses he’s covered Harry with everywhere else. He should have expected it, maybe, but he’s so wet and Louis’ lips are surely coming away sticky. He can’t imagine that would be pleasant for Louis.

But it must be because he feels Louis’ tongue then, solid and sure, lick a stripe up and down and then in. He hears himself cry out, a noise somewhere between a shout and sob.

Louis squeezes his hip and sits back. “Do you want me to keep going?”

For a moment, Harry cannot process his question. He’s shaking inside out, too busy reveling in Louis’ touch to consider about what he might want to happen next. Everything Louis has done with him, every kiss, every word, every soft caress, has been more than ‘okay’ and he knows he does not want Louis to let up.

“Don’t stop,” he says.

Without replying, Louis dives back in. His tongue flicks across Harry’s hole, sending shivers up his spine, teasing him. It’s not nearly enough.

When he thrusts inside, Harry feels _good_ , really, really good for the first time since the itch of his heat had began beneath his skin the night before. Louis’  tongue is better than his own fingers, better than the toy Harry’d used last heat, it’s the best thing he’s ever had inside him because it’s _Louis_.

It’s a dangerous line of thought because Harry is not Louis’ omega.

But right now. it feels that way- that Louis and Harry _belong_ to one another- and there’s a part of Harry, a part that’s growing larger and larger in his heat-enmeshed mind, that _wants_ them to be like that.

When Louis finally pulls away, Harry whines. It’s a hollow sound and it has Louis’ fingers digging all the more tightly into him.

“I’m going to-“ He begins, but Harry cuts him off, voice back sudden and sure.

“Come _on,_ put it in me.”

Louis leans down and leaves a kiss on the top Harry’s arse. “Yeah, okay. Which do you want? This big one? Or- fuck, _Harry_ , stop squirming like that. _Shit._ There’s ridges on this one. I don’t… what do you need?”

His words come out in a rush, as though the need that’s been bubbling beneath Harry’s skin has finally reached him.

Harry’s glad he can feel it, now, but he doesn’t like the options Louis’ put on the table. He doesn’t want a toy. He wants _Louis_.

His fists clench and unclench in the sheets.

“You choose,” he says, finally. His voice is almost gone again, hoarse and soft.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis agrees and he speckles kisses all across Harry’s back. Harry can hear his free hand digging through the box of toys a little wildly.

It doesn’t matter, Harry wants to tell him. Whatever he chooses will be fine, will be wonderful, actually. With his hands directing it and his breath in Harry’s ear and his scent mingling with Harry’s own, it will be the best sex Harry’s _ever_ had.

Louis takes his time choosing and Harry moans, loudly.  He needs Louis to speed this _up_. Then, _finally,_ not a toy, but a slim, slick finger slides into him. It’s not thick enough or long enough, but it is _Louis_.

Harry wants to shout at him, to demand _more_. He’s not supposed to, though, and, besides, he can’t actually find the words to speak anyway.

Louis’s not having the same problem. “So hot, babe, so wet. I want to fill you up. I’m going to fuck you so hard and so good.”

Though the words themselves are rough, Louis’ voice continues to hold the same gentle tenor as before, when he was letting loose the love words.

It’s good, _perfect_ , really. Because Harry _wants_ to filled up and fucked hard. He _needs_ it and, even with a toy, Louis’ll do a better job than Harry’s done in the past.

Louis inserts another finger beside the first and it’s better, but still not nearly enough. Harry whines his displeasure and Louis lays a line of kisses along his lower back, keeping up the slow, rhythmic thrust of his fingers.

“Please,” Harry says, the word falling from his lips without thought or intention.

Louis twists his finger and Harry let’s out an uncomfortable whine because he doesn’t want more _teasing;_ he wants a knot. But then Louis twists again and this time Harry shouts because it feels so incredibly _good._

Louis repeats the motion once, twice, three times and Harry’s _writhing_ now. He knows he must look a _mess_ but instead of feeling humiliated he feels relieved. Louis’ seen him at his most ugly, his most _desperate_ and he’s still here, he’s still _hard_.

Harry can smell his arousal and it’s only thickened since they entered the hotel suite.

“You ready?” Louis asks, withdrawing his fingers. Harry squirms a little, feeling suddenly more empty than ever.

He’s never been more ready in his life. He nods against the pillow and his breath catches when he feels the thick head of one of the toys press against his hole, just a tad too cold to be comfortable. Louis holds it there for a moment and when Harry bucks back against it, he laughs, murmurs “Alright,” and guides it in.

The toy feels _huge_ inside him. It’s definitely larger than the one he’d used at home. But the stretch is satisfying and Louis is gentle with the first few thrusts, pacing them smooth and slow, until Harry starts to arch back into it.

“Faster,” Harry instructs. He doesn’t care about etiquette anymore. He cares about being fucked, about getting what he needs.

Louis picks up his pace and in doing so changes the angle, just slightly. The way that the toy rubs up inside Harry now is both exactly enough and way, _way_ too much. He hadn’t realized he was so close, but his balls are tight up against him. The pressure has built to a point beyond his control and he’s coming in spurts against the sheets.

Louis, he realizes, is coming too, his hard cock pulsing against Harry’s hip where he’s been rutting for god knows how long.

“Fuck, Harry, so _good_ ,” he says, voice pitchy and rough. Harry nods against the pillow in agreement. This is the best he’s _ever_ felt.

Louis’ mouth spreads kisses across his shoulders and against the back of his neck. He settles on the side of it, mouthing at Harry’s pulsepoint for several long moments before letting his teeth sink in. It’s a soft bite, not nearly breaking the skin, but it sends a shiver of awareness through Harry from his neck to his belly to his balls and settling finally in his still full hole.

Louis must feel him tense because he coos against Harry’s now wet skin and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to rest now, for a little while.”

He bends down and removes the toy from Harry’s arse, pressing kisses all along his crack and the edges of his opening. “So loose, so lovely,” he says and Harry’s arse twitches again with tired interest.

He moves toward the edge of the bed and Harry clutches at his wrist. “I’ll be back, love. I just have to piss. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry trusts him, but he isn’t able to fully relax into sleep until Louis returns and tucks himself tightly around Harry’s prone form.

Louis fucks him again several hours later, this time with a toy that mimics a real alpha cock with a knot at the end. He’s gentler, not speeding up or thrusting harder, even when Harry insists he needs it to come. In time, though, his even strokes send Harry spiraling over the edge. Harry feels Louis spill again, this time over Harry’s back and then his mouth finds the same spot on Harry’s neck as before and latches on, just as hard.

When Harry wakes again, he can tell his heat is waning. The desperate edge to his desire has worn off and the room feels as though it has cooled considerably. This time, when Louis fucks him, he uses only his fingers. Harry falls asleep vaguely aware of Louis’ tongue lapping at the bruise he’s now certainly made on the back of Harry’s neck.  

~

Harry wakes again to sunlight. The windows of the hotel room are open wide, letting in not only the light but air and noise from outside. He clutches the bedsheets tightly around himself and opens his eyes, searching for Louis.

He’s sitting in an armchair near the bed, laptop open in front of him and headphones in his ears. He’s watching Harry with a smile.

Harry smiles back and stretches, large and loud. He feels surprisingly good, especially for coming out of a heat. He’s starving but before he has the chance to say something, Louis tosses a banana at him.

“What are you hungry for?” His headphones are on the table and he’s got the room phone in hand. Harry rattles off the largest breakfast order he can think of, including at four different types of fruit, three different pastries and the most complex omelette he’s ever had. It’s probably more than he’s strictly _allowed,_ especially at such a fancy hotel, but he supposes that Louis will take care of it for him. He’s just finished a very draining heat, after all.

While they wait for the meal to arrive, Harry cleans himself up. He finds that while his skin is salty with dried sweat, Louis must’ve cleaned the come off his back and done a perfunctory scrub of his arse because he’s not nearly as itchy as he had expected.

He wonders what time it is and if he’ll have to _do_ anything today. He wonders how long Louis will be able to stay and keep him company.

As he dries off in front to the large bathroom mirror, his eyes catch on a bruise at the base of his neck. It’s mostly on the back and he has to strain a bit to see it, even in the mirror.

Harry likes it, likes the way the colors look, bold against his pale skin. He hopes that Liam has picked out a shirt with a low neckline so that he can show it off, so that people can see Louis _all over him_.

As soon as he thinks it, he knows it’s wrong, not true even. He doesn’t belong to Louis, not even now.  He doesn’t want to, either.

He fingers the mark. Louis didn’t break the skin, which is good, he tells himself, because that means there isn’t any possibility that it will be permanent.

When Harry’s clean and dressed and shoveling eggs into his mouth, Louis closes his computer and says, “So, we didn’t bond.”

Harry nods. “It wasn’t too difficult.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Louis says, but his tone is light and Harry thinks (hopes) that he’s mostly teasing.

“Would you do it again?” Harry asks. He’s already been thinking about this as a regular arrangement and he’s assumed that Louis had, too, but they haven’t said so, not explicitly.

Louis nods. “I’d like that. You’re incredible, Harry. I love, like, watching you.”

Harry’s dick twitches in his jeans despite the fact that every muscle is a touch too sore to even think about another round of sex now and maybe ever again. “Same,” he says.

Louis laughs. “As if you could think of anything aside from your own wet, empty arse. “

Harry pouts. It’s not true. He _had_ been aware of Louis’ pleasure. It had been heaving in the air all around them. The excitement, the _thrill_ , Louis had felt buzzed through Harry, enhancing his experience a hundredfold and fuck Louis for thinking otherwise.

Sensing Harry’s irritation, Louis settles beside him on the bed and runs a hand down his own thigh. “Hey,” he says, “It’s all right. You were in heat. It’s my job to think of _you._ ”

“It isn’t,” Harry says, because Louis isn’t _his_ alpha, not really, not yet. “We aren’t-”

Louis’ gaze is intent and Harry looks away, down at his plate of food, and chooses a strawberry. Before Harry can lift it to his mouth, Louis reaches out and takes Harry’s face in his hands. Harry meets his eyes then, blue and fierce, as Louis leans forward and touches their lips together in a gentle kiss. When he pulls away, Louis says, “I know, but as long as you want me, I’m yours.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello on [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Also, no more hopeful estimates on timing because when I inevitably fail to meet my goals, my mental health suffers. Sorry!


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